April Fool's, Amon!
by GlitterDemon
Summary: Amon is having one strange morning, and he isn't happy about it.


--April Fool's, Amon!--  
  
A/n: Just a short humor piece for the "holiday," inspired by Adult Swim.  
  
Amon woke up. He got out of bed. He brushed his teeth. He shaved, but made sure to leave the trademark four whiskers on each side of his face. Ah, his babies, his pride and joy. He'd worked years to grow those guys, and he liked to think they gave him a sort of rugged, manly look.  
  
"Hm, I need a tan," he said aloud to himself, examining his face in the mirror. He opened his closet and stood in front of it, scratching his chin thoughtfully.  
  
"Should I wear my long, Gothic shirt or my long, Gothic shirt? I just can't decide. . ." he decided to go with the first one. He pulled on his trenchcoat, and ran a hand through his long, ebony locks, making sure they hung sexily in his eyes. Once everything was in place, he headed to work.  
  
When he arrived at the STN-J headquarters, Michael, Sakaki and Karasuma were already waiting for him. He nodded at them briefly, then headed to the coffee machine. As he waited for it to brew, he ran a hand over his face. Something was. . .wrong.  
  
He brushed a finger over his upper lip. Was there. . .hair up there? That was impossible, he was, and had always been, the clean-shaven, brooding bishounen. Racing back into the elevator, he ignored the questions of the others and went back down to the parking garage.  
  
Amon checked himself in the car's side mirror. Sure enough, he was now in possession of a full, handlebar mustache.  
  
"What the hell?" He muttered. "Who is responsible for this?" he shouted into thin air.  
  
Sitting in his cubicle, the animator sniggered quietly to himself, and decided to let the fun begin.  
  
Amon continued fingering his mustache, wondering how in hell it had gotten there. It couldn't have just sprung onto his face out of nowhere. . .right?  
  
"I don't know if this someone's idea of a joke, but I don't find it very amusing." He said aloud, staring at the ceiling.  
  
His next glance in the mirror now showed a neatly trimmed goatee to match the mustache. Amon let out a grunt of frustration, then stood up straight, his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
"All right you've had your fun," he said irritatedly. "Now get rid of this!" He yelled, pointing to his face.  
  
The animator quickly obliged, rubbing out Amon's gorgeous, pouty lips.  
  
"Mmeh!" He cried, his voice muffled now that it had nowhere to go. "Mmahs eh mmigh ehhdeahhgg!" [translation omitted due to graphic content]  
  
The animator was now laughing uproariously as he drew Amon's mouth back in.  
  
"That's better." Amon stated. "Now, is there anything else you changed?"  
  
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and so Amon was satisfied for the moment. A check of his chin revealed he was once again smooth-shaven. But something was missing. . .  
  
"My random whiskers!" Amon shouted, rubbing his chin frantically. "What have you done! Give them back!" He shook his fist at the invisible force which was tormenting him. The animator obliged, pencilling in four small hairs on each side. Amon nodded in satisfaction. He began walking back to the elevator. As he pushed the button for the fifth floor, he caught a glimpse of himself in a window.  
  
A scream tore through Raven's Flat, startling the Hunters. He guard at the door put down his horoscope, looked around, then brushed the sound off as his imagination and continued checking his horoscope.  
  
"My hair!!!" Amon's face was wracked with pain as he tried to run his hands through his hair-only to find nothing but skin. He stopped the elevator's ascent, suppressing a whimper as he rubbed his shiny scalp.  
  
"This isn't funny! I demand you restore me to normal right now!" he screamed furiously, stomping his foot for emphasis. The animator giggled like a schoolgirl as he restored Amon's luscious, dark mane.  
  
Amon felt the top of his head, secure in the knowledge that he had regained his debonair looks. He once more pushed the button for the fifth floor.  
  
"Amon, did you-"Karasuma asked, cut off as Amon raised a hand for silence. He stalked past her into Zaizen's office. Whatever it was, he didn't want to hear about it. It had been a rough morning.  
  
"Was he?" Michael asked, his voice trailing off curiously. Sakaki just shrugged his shoulders. None of them knew why their leader felt the need to come to work decked out in full glam makeup, but they assumed he had a good reason for it. At least, they hoped he did. Otherwise, the STN- J was going to be a very different place. 


End file.
